Isabelle Thompson

      The Romance Languages My mother is learning French in stumbling little phrases. Bonjour, Julien. Bonsoir. Who is Julien? Merci, Julien. Salut, Julien. Bonne nuit. I imagine a man dressed all in blue, drinking a glass of Badoit. ~Bonjour~, Julien,...

Ken Evans

      The Passenger Via        hand to hand and hand to mouth, they pass a line invisible. Via        blast of air, puff of smoke, handshake, warm embrace, the tourist shares a secret, without telling us. Via        soft-soled tread in airport lounge,...

Isabelle Kenyon

      Yeah that place is a dump Tastes like poverty: wide roads, no one with fuel to ride them. Casinos and bingo- coins like wishbones, dream of swimming in them. Even here, shiny leaflets and theatre lights, the floor cries dust balls, DIY people for...

Morag Smith

      River Teviot, Borders, 2020 The Bridge Guest House is peeled open, emulsioned walls still hung with summer landscapes, boys fishing, bedroom doors politely closed against the swell that excavates my sleep, unearths the time our neighbourhood was...